Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Harper

I didn’t tell the children anything was wrong. I couldn’t. Lily was busy narrating an elaborate story involving her dolls while Grace gnawed contentedly on a teething biscuit, and some instinct kept me moving through the motions of an ordinary afternoon even as my hands trembled slightly every time I thought about the voice on the phone.

Stop asking questions about Victor Hale. For your own safety, and for your family’s.

I called Damian the moment Lily settled into an after-school show, stepping into the hallway where small ears couldn’t overhear.

“Someone just called me,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “Warned me to stop asking about Victor Hale. Said it was for my safety. For the family’s safety.”

Damian’s voice sharpened immediately. “What number?”

“Unknown. Blocked, probably.” I glanced back toward the living room, checking that Lily remained absorbed in her show. “Damian, I’m scared. Not for me, necessarily. For them. For Grace and Lily.”

“I’m coming home right now,” he said, urgency clear beneath his controlled tone. “Richard’s with me. We need to talk, all of us, properly, about exactly what he remembers regarding Victor Hale.”

“Did he say anything useful?”

“Some,” Damian said carefully. “Enough that I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. Give me twenty minutes.”

He arrived closer to thirty, Richard beside him, both wearing expressions heavy with the particular tension I’d grown to recognize whenever serious business trouble threatened the careful peace we’d built.

Once Lily had been settled with a snack and cartoons, and Grace had gone down for her afternoon nap, the three of us gathered in the study, Richard settling slowly into the same chair he’d occupied the previous night, though something about his posture now carried more weariness than composure.

“Tell her,” Damian said quietly.

Richard nodded, folding his hands together. “Victor Hale wasn’t just a business associate, Harper. He worked for me directly, in a capacity I’m not proud of. Handling matters I preferred to keep at arm’s length from my own reputation.”

“What kind of matters?”

“Persuasion,” Richard said carefully. “Ensuring certain business outcomes went the way I needed them to go. Not through violence, necessarily, but through pressure. Threats, occasionally. Information used as leverage against people who might otherwise cause problems.”

My stomach tightened. “Did he threaten my father?”

“I believe so,” Richard admitted. “Though I never asked directly what methods Victor employed. I preferred, cowardly as it sounds now, remaining ignorant of the specifics.”

“And the night my father died? The phone call an hour before the crash?”

Richard’s expression turned grim. “I don’t know what was said between them. I genuinely don’t, Harper. But knowing what I know now about Victor’s methods, I think it’s entirely possible your father was frightened that night. Possibly running from something rather than simply drinking recklessly.”

The room fell silent, weight of the implication settling heavily across all of us.

“Who would be threatening me now?” I asked finally. “Victor’s been dead for eight years.”

“I don’t know,” Richard said. “But Victor rarely worked entirely alone. If someone connected to him is still active, still protecting whatever happened back then, they might see this investigation as a genuine threat worth silencing.”

“Silencing how?” Fear sharpened my voice despite my attempt at composure.

“I don’t know that either,” Richard admitted. “But I think, given the threat you received today, we need to take this seriously. Increased security, at minimum. Perhaps involving actual law enforcement, rather than simply relying on a journalist’s private investigation.”

Damian, who’d remained quiet through most of the exchange, finally spoke, voice tight with barely controlled anger. “If anyone threatens my family again, Richard, I don’t care how deep this goes or who it implicates. I want it exposed completely, and I want whoever’s responsible held accountable.”

“I agree completely,” Richard said. “I’ve hidden behind consequences long enough. If protecting Harper and the children means finally exposing everything Victor Hale was involved in, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

I sat quietly, processing everything, fear and determination tangling together uncomfortably in my chest. “I want to call Renata back. Tell her about the threat. Maybe she has resources to actually investigate this properly, rather than just theorizing.”

“I’ll arrange additional security first,” Damian said. “For the house, for wherever you and the kids go. I’m not taking any chances, Harper. Not after a threat like that.”

“Agreed,” Richard said. “I’ll also reach out to some old contacts, people who might remember more about Victor’s activities during that period. Carefully, though. I don’t want to alert whoever’s threatening you that we’re actively investigating further.”

The plan settled uneasily around us, practical steps offering some small measure of control against fear that otherwise felt increasingly overwhelming.

That evening, once additional security had been arranged and Richard had departed to begin his careful inquiries, Damian and I sat together in Grace’s nursery, watching our daughter sleep peacefully, entirely unaware of the danger that had suddenly, unexpectedly entered our lives.

“I keep thinking,” I said quietly, “about how quickly everything can change. Yesterday morning, our biggest concern was Grace learning to stand. Now we’re worried about actual threats against our family.”

“We’ll handle this,” Damian said, though his voice carried less certainty than usual. “Whatever it takes, Harper, I promise you, we’ll keep them safe.”

“I know you’ll try.”

“I won’t just try,” he said firmly. “I’ll succeed. I refuse to let whatever happened decades ago touch our children now.”

I leaned against him, exhaustion and fear mixing uncomfortably as I watched Grace’s steady, peaceful breathing. “Do you think Richard’s telling us everything now? Completely, this time?”

“I want to believe he is,” Damian said carefully. “He’s changed considerably these past few years. But I also understand now how deeply he’s capable of burying uncomfortable truths, even from himself.”

We sat together for a long while, the nursery quiet except for Grace’s soft breathing, neither of us quite ready to leave the fragile safety of watching over her directly.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled us both toward bed, though sleep remained elusive for hours, my mind circling relentlessly through everything Richard had revealed, every uncertain implication about my father’s final hours.

Sometime past midnight, my phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. I reached for it carefully, not wanting to wake Damian, though he stirred anyway, alert immediately despite the late hour.

The message glowed on the screen, sender listed only as “Unknown.”

I told you to stop asking questions. This is your final warning. Look outside your daughter’s nursery window right now.

Ice flooded through me instantly. I scrambled from the bed, Damian already moving beside me, both of us racing toward Grace’s room, hearts pounding with terror, neither of us dared to voice aloud.

We reached the nursery door together, and I froze, staring at the window overlooking the backyard.